


Wild Youth

by Funkspiel



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Conditioning, Gen, Jacob is turned into a Boy, Kidnapping, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pieces of Eden, Slight Evie Frye/Henry Green, Starrick is one crazy asshole, The Shroud
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shroud, as it turns out, was capable of much more than either of the Frye twins were prepared for - and Starrick proves as much upon Jacob the moment he has him in his grasp. Kidnapped and turned into a young boy, Jacob has to find a way to free himself from Starrick's clutches and turn back into an adult before the man succeeds in "conditioning" him to be the perfect Templar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Be Young Again

_We are the reckless, we are the wild youth._

_Chasing visions of our futures, one day we'll reveal the truth._

_That one will die before he gets there._

 

Jacob approached on deft feet, his blade out, every fiber of his being ready. Starrick was just ahead, mere feet from him. He’d gotten into whatever stupid chest Evie had been trying to beat him to, but it didn’t matter. The silly yellow myth around Starrick’s neck wouldn’t save him from a well placed knife between the ribs.

He held his breath, and once he was within striking distance he could restrain himself no longer. He lunged forward, a victorious snarl already across his face when Starrick suddenly turned on him - as if warned. A hand at his wrist, cruel and high and yanking pulled him off balance. And then another hand, this one at his throat. Jacob gagged. With his free hand, Jacob grasped at it and tried to pry himself free, but the man’s grip was strong; stronger than it should have been.

That was when the strangest feeling began to spread through Jacob's body; like a pulling, but in a way that he couldn’t describe. All at once, he felt incredibly tired – as though he had been running for days on end instead of the quick sprint he had just taken across the property to reach the underground hall.

“What…” Jacob gasped, eyes closed, overwhelmed by these sudden weird sensations. He peeked at Starrick in quick, squinted glimpses and was shocked when the man was haloed in a yellow glow – Evie’s fabled “Piece of Eden” suddenly alight around his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Exploiting. I warned you, my boy, but you _do not listen_ ,” Starrick said, and his hand clenched tighter.

Jacob cried out. He fell first to one knee – the stone beneath him harsh and biting – and then to the other. And Starrick only continued to glow all the brighter.

“You have been a pain in my side for far too long. A roach I can’t rid myself of,” Starrick said, and Jacob had the most peculiar feeling that Starrick was growing taller somehow. He shook the crazy thought from his head and tried to focus. “However, you could be quite useful. Roth and Pearl proved as much. All you need is training. Discipline. Order.”

“I will never work for you,” Jacob spat between gasps, teeth bared.

“Oh, I know. Hard to teach an old dog new tricks, after all. But the Shroud doesn’t just siphon away vitality, my boy. No, nothing as simple as that.”

Starrick hefted Jacob up so that Jacob had to strain his back to keep his knees on the ground, his neck arched up to see the cruelty – and the excited expectation – on Starrick’s face. Jacob’s stomach dropped. The pulling grew.

“It lets me control the vitality of a man completely. Your health, your energy, your body,” Starrick said, then paused to lean in, his smile exceptionally cutting as he whispered, “Your age.”

“Wha— _aah!_ ” Jacob shouted as that strange pulling feeling increased. He could practically track its path – strength leaving his bones and traveling up, up, up to the two points where Starrick had him hostage. And then leaving his body altogether, making the Shroud glow brighter.

“Nn-No!”

Starrick was definitely growing now, looming over him, grinning. _No,_ Jacob realized with a sick twist of horror. Starrick wasn’t growing. _Jacob was shrinking._

He struggled weakly, but every move he made caused his body to sing with exhaustion and agony. His eyelids fluttered. His world began to grow dark around the edges.

“Yes, that’s it. It will all be over soon. Just let it happen.”

Footsteps – fast and light, almost unnoticeable if not for their haste and then a shout, and suddenly the pressure at his neck, as well as the strange pulling from the Shroud, was gone. Jacob collapsed into a loose pool of his own clothing. It was not so loose yet that it might fall off, but it certainly didn’t fit. Jacob struggled to raise himself onto his hands knees, cursing when his coat slid demurely off one shoulder and caught him up in a loose sleeve. He shoved it as high as it would go and turned to see his sister and Starrick dancing again – this time with blades drawn.

“Don’t let him grab you, Evie!” Jacob shouted to her, only to cringe when he heard how _young_ he sounded. Not a child, no – but his voice had distinctly cracked. And Evie noticed, too. She turned to him wide-eyed and gaped openly.

“Jacob?”

And then Starrick punched her in the face.

“Evie!”

“I’m fine, Jacob!” Evie said, up on her feet mere seconds after having struck the ground. She ducked around another blow, dipped beneath a deft knife swipe and lunged forward with her hidden blade ready. Jacob heard it the moment the knife found Starrick’s lung. It slid between his ribs with a quiet snick and a soft but knowing thump. Starrick choked, his mouth full of copper, and began to sag toward Evie as though dying; only for it to have been a ploy all along. He used the feint to grab Evie sternly by the throat and mere seconds later, Jacob heard her cry out from the influence of the Shroud.

Only Evie wasn’t growing younger, he realized. With a horrified pang he watched as the healthy pink of his sister’s skin was leached from her, and the wound that oozed at Starrick’s ribs slowly sewed shut as if by invisible hands, as if by magic.

“No!” Jacob shouted and lunged to his feet. He had to hold his trousers up in order to keep himself from tripping, but he managed to quickly clear the space between them and use his remaining weight to tackle Starrick to the ground and away from Evie. The moment she was free, Evie let loose a loud gasp – as one might after holding their breath underwater for too long.

Starrick and Jacob hit the ground violently, and Jacob thanked his lucky star when he ended up on top. He lifted his hand to activate his hidden blade while Starrick lay stunned beneath him – only for the damn thing to slip around loosely on his wrist. He went to use his other hand to steady it and activate the blade, cursing all the while, when a familiar hand took advantage of the distraction and struck for his throat.

The moment Starrick had a grip on him again, he felt the Shroud start working. And Jacob didn’t know what he feared more: the idea that it might sap his health to save his enemy or that it might suck even more age from him. Either way, he wouldn't be useful for much longer.

“Ev-Evie!” He cried out, eyes rolling back as the strange pulling from the Shroud became even more overwhelming than before. Jacob felt it when Starrick suddenly rolled them, but could do nothing to prevent it. Instead, he found himself beneath the man – writhing against the cold stone. He kicked out with his heels, trying to find some sort of purchase with which to wriggle free, but his boots just kept growing looser until finally he lost one completely. He felt white hot frustration wet the edges of his eyes and if anything, that just made him feel more helpless. He lost the other boot not long after.

“I’d say you’re about eleven now, wouldn’t you? I wonder how young you’ll need to be in order to become receptive to the appropriate conditioning. Seven? Six? Let’s find out,” Starrick said, his grin manic as he stared down at him.

“Get off my brother!” Evie shouted and then Starrick’s weight was gone from him. Jacob sucked in a large, relieved breath and lurched up to check on Evie – only for his coat and shirt to practically pool into his lap. He raised his hands to see them disappear into their sleeves. He looked foolish; like a young boy stealing his father’s clothes. His cheeks heated at the thought, but his mind was quickly drawn to more pressing things when he heard a familiar cry and the sound of a knife penetrating skin.

Evie.

He looked up to see her at Starrick’s feet – a knife sticking out from deep within the space where her collar and shoulder met. She reached for it with shaking hands, but the Shroud had drained her and without any chance to catch her breath, she was too exhausted to pull it free. Even from here he could see the dark shadows that had crawled beneath her eyes from just one session. The gauntness of her cheeks, the thinness of her skin. She wouldn’t survive another round.

And sure enough, Starrick was leaning down to finish what he started.

“No!”

A knife whizzed through the air and landed in Starrick’s shoulder with a solid smack. The Templar fell back with a shout, just as Jacob caught sight of Henry running toward them.

“Greenie!” Jacob sighed with relief, and yet again he only found himself as a source of distraction as Henry’s gaze fell upon him and he stumbled to a halt.

“Ja… _Jacob_?!”

“Get to Evie!” Jacob urged, and as if reminded, Henry rushed to her side.

“Miss Frye, can you move?” Henry asked, hands at Evie’s shoulders, helping her up. “Evie?”

“I can move,” Evie said, but Jacob could see the false bravado in her eye as she tried not to sag against Henry. “I can fight.”

That was when the laughing started. Low, dark, manic. Starrick.

He was crouched over, as though holding his stomach, but when he looked up at them from beneath the messy fringe of his usually impeccable hair, Jacob could see he was in anything but pain. The man reached up for Henry’s blade and pulled it from his shoulder as if it were a toothpick. And between the health the Shroud had sapped from Evie and the age it had stolen from Jacob, Starrick's wound healed instantaneously. Jacob watched the wound sew shut and couldn’t help but feel as though they were fighting a losing battle.

“That’s quite brave of you, Miss Frye. But unlike me, you won’t be healing from that shoulder wound any time soon.”

“What have you done to my brother?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” Starrick said, “But enough of this. I’m done playing these trivial games. The night is done, the game is over – you have lost, Miss Frye,” and before Evie could say a word against him, the Shroud began to glow again.

“Evie, run!” Jacob shouted, but too late. He could scarcely believe his eyes as a blast of light launched from Starrick’s outstretched hand and slammed into Henry and Evie – throwing them back toward the entrance of the chamber and far away from Starrick. “Evie!”

Jacob attempted to run after them, but suddenly the light returned and Jacob found the way blocked by a huge barrier of energy, spanning from floor to ceiling. He stared it for a moment, then past it to where Henry was helping Evie up.

“Shit!” Jacob snarled, then whirled around, desperate for an escape – but the only door was back at the entrance, on the other side of the barrier. Only Starrick lay ahead, grinning.

“Nowhere to run, my boy.”

 

* * *

 

“Evie, are you alright?” Henry asked, his hands a firm and steady weight that kept her anchored as they slowly rose. Her eyes fluttered and all around the edges of her vision, darkness waited for her. Whatever Starrick had done, he had taken much from her. She felt as though she had not slept in months, nor ate, nor drank. Her bones felt brittle, and just standing felt taxing, but she couldn’t rest.

Starrick had her brother.

“Hurry, Mr. Green,” she said, and took a step forward only to stumble. Henry caught her, thankfully, but she couldn’t appreciate the attractiveness of his gesture while she loathed her weakness so. She needed to be strong now. For Jacob.

But instead, she swallowed her pride and allowed Henry to wind one of her arms over his shoulders and help her toward the other end of the chamber where a wall of light had suddenly appeared – shutting them out. Within, she could see Starrick stalking Jacob, tailing him around the small bubble he had locked them into as Jacob struggled with his clothing.

“I must help him,” she said and tried to ignore the fact that it sounded far more like a plea for permission rather than a demand. But Henry merely nodded, adjusted his grip on her and gently – but quickly – helped her toward her twin.

When they were halfway across the hall she saw Jacob pull his kukri free from his loose belt, only to drop it heavily to the floor, unable to hold its weight. She heard him cry out first in frustration, then in fright when Starrick’s slow stalking suddenly turned into a viper’s lunge. Her brother managed to dodge him, but only just, and not a moment later Starrick grabbed hold of the back of his entirely too large coat.

If there was one benefit to her brother’s sudden new size, it was that he was able to slip from his coat easily and once more put some space between them.

Evie and Henry reached the barrier just as Jacob crossed Starrick’s makeshift arena and ended up in front of them. Looking down at her twin was… well, strange in a way she never imagined she would have to explain. Seeing him so young again - his face round and smooth with youth, and his throat so slender and _bruised_ – she growled and started to look around the barrier for a way in.

“It’s no use, Miss Frye,” Starrick said, drawing her attention as he slowly approached, making Jacob shift away as he tried to keep his distance. “With the energy I sapped from your life’s essence, I will be able to hold this barrier strong for hours if need be. You will not be getting in here any time soon.”

“Last I checked there were no exits over there, Mr. Starrick. Hold your barriers for as long as you’d like – they will not keep you from me or my blade forever.”

“Ah yes, because your blade helped you so much the first time. But that is where you’re wrong, actually. There _is_ another door. One I fully intend to use once I’m finished preparing young Jacob here for his new life.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“Ah,” Starrick grinned, “Tsk, tsk. That is no way for a lady to speak.”

She was going to open her mouth to show him just how a lady speaks when a flicker of movement caught her eye. It was Jacob. He was sneaking up behind Starrick with extended hands, no doubt preparing to remove the Shroud from the man’s shoulders while he wasn’t looking. ‘ _Brilliant_ ,’ she thought. If he were to simply stab or shoot him while his back were turned, the Shroud would heal him and the moment of surprise would be lost. But Evie had a good hunch that if the Shroud were to be removed, the barrier would more than likely fall without Starrick’s will to form it. Between Henry and herself, they could handle Starrick and with the Shroud in their hands, they could find a way to fix Jacob.

She darted her gaze from him quickly, hoping she hadn’t given him away.

“Apologies. I forget myself, sometimes,” she sassed, “Go on. You were saying.”

Starrick’s grin turned into a cruel, disgusted sneer.

“You know, I had considered grabbing you as well – but something tells me you’re not quite as _malleable_ as your brother. It’s too bad you two are so unalike. Your thirst for knowledge, the subtle and intricate methods of your work as an assassin, and your drive are all traits I quite admire about your, Miss Frye. You and I are not so different. But those very traits make you unfit for what I need. Jacob, however... he is a storm, all energy and chaos - potential just waiting to be guided. And like all other wild forces of nature, he can be channeled into something greater. And I intend to do just that.”

Jacob was right behind him now, right within striking range. Beside her, she felt Henry stiffen – ready to launch himself forward. She was felt a stab of shame for their arguments - for having told Henry he was only useful on the train. She had a lot to apologize for, but for now she allowed herself to gather strength from the fact that he had decided to come for her regardless of her cruel words. 

“I’ve been trying to “channel” Jacob for years,” Evie said with a coy smirk, “Good luck with that.”

And then Jacob went for the robe. But Evie saw it the moment their plan was ruined. Somehow, perhaps due to the Shroud, Starrick was suddenly alerted to Jacob’s presence. At the last second, he whirled – and the Shroud was torn away, just out of reach of Jacob’s small, grasping fingers. The man lurched down and caught Jacob by the throat, then cruelly lifted him off his feet. Jacob’s trousers fell to the ground in a soft hush of fabric, leaving him with just his vest and undershirt – both of which hung down on him so long they nearly could pass as a dress.

Jacob tried to pry off the hand that held him, but he was too small, too weak. Evie could see the frustration burning in his eyes as Starrick walked them toward the alter the Shroud had come from. She could also see the fear.

“No!” She cried out and pulled herself from Henry. She slammed her hands against the barrier, only to be met with a harsh and burning sting.

“Evie, no!” Henry said. He rushed forward to grab her arms and hold her back. Tired as she was, her struggles did nothing to free her. “You’ll only hurt yourself! You can’t help Jacob if you kill yourself trying to get through that wall!”

“But –“

Jacob screamed and her struggles renewed. She couldn’t get a good look at him now. Starrick’s back blocked most of her view and all she could see of Jacob was his flailing kicks. Henry’s hold on her prevented her from getting a better look. Instead she had to wait as those small feet grew smaller, and then fell still and out of sight completely.

Starrick stilled as well, and the room fell deathly silent. 

“Jacob?” Evie called out, and when she was met with nothing but silence, “ _Jacob?!”_

But Jacob didn’t answer.

Instead, Starrick shifted around a bit before finally speaking. Jacob's green Rooks' vest fell to the floor with a quiet whisper of cloth.

“There we are. Perfect.”

And when he turned to finally face them he was cradling a small sleeping boy in his arms, swaddled in an overly large shirt. The boy – _Jacob_ , she reminded herself – was young. Likely no more than five or six years of age. She couldn’t believe how small he was, dwarfed in Starrick’s arms as he was. How had Jacob, her larger than life brother, ever fit into a body so small? Youth had brought back the freckles that they had once shared, a stark contrast against the pale skin across his nose. She had forgotten he once had them, too.

Whatever process had been taken to turn back the clock on Jacob’s body must have been taxing though, because her twin was fast asleep – one hand loose on his stomach, the other clutching the soft fabric of Starrick’s expensive suit. He had his face ducked into the crook of the man’s arm, and Evie was struck by how vulnerable Jacob looked.

“What have you done?!” She snarled. “Is he –?”

“He’s fine, Miss Frye. Merely exhausted,” Starrick said, looking down at her brother as if he were some sort of miracle. He grinned. “I do believe that without your brother to raise a blaze of fire throughout London, many of my operations will begin to run far more smoothly, don’t you?”

“If you think for one second I will not come for you, you are gravely mistaken,” Evie said, her voice low with the wrath building in her chest. She thought of the words she and her brother had exchanged up unto this point. Poisonous, venomous conversations. And she thought of all the things she had planned to say to him after Starrick was dead. Apologies. The chance to rebuild what they had lost… She wondered if he had planned the same. "I will burn each and every building that claims the name "Starrick" to the ground, and in their ashes I will choke you with your Shroud."

Starrick scoffed.

“What a lovely image you paint, Miss Frye. Quite ambitious. But if you think I will be allowing you to leave these chambers alive, it is _you_ who are mistaken. I’ll be sure to take care of your brother, Miss Frye,” Starrick said, suddenly somber as a crescendo of footsteps began to usher in from the entryway behind them. Evie turned to see Blighters en masse approaching. She snarled a curse just as Starrick finished. “You can rest in peace knowing that he is in good hands.”

Starrick turned from her then, and Evie’s heart plummeted the moment Jacob was torn from her view. She lunged for the barrier again, but Henry was pulling her back, urging her to see reason.

_“Blighters are coming. Evie, please. We cannot help your brother if we are dead!”_

“Jacob!”

Starrick touched some hidden stone admist a thousand and a doorway suddenly appeared as if by magic, allowing him to disappear without giving them a second glance. And just like that, he was gone – and Jacob with him.

 _“Jacob!”_ Evie screamed, but Jacob did not answer.


	2. Unsteady

When Jacob woke, it was slowly. His lashes fluttered as he tried to shake sleep from his eyes, the room dim around him. He was warm and comfortable, and loathe to leave the paradise that was the bed he was currently nested in. The pillow beneath his cheek was soft – softer than any pillow he could recall them ever having procured on the train. And the lounge had never been this comfortable… Was he in Evie’s bed? And if Evie had seen fit to allow him to sleep in her bed, something must have happened… Something was wrong.

Jacob opened his eyes.

He was somewhere new. The room was growing dark with the falling sun. Dusk. How long had he been asleep? Jacob sat up slowly, but was instantly disoriented when he did not gain nearly the height he had expected. Confused, he raised his hands to rub at his eyes – only to notice how small they were. And that was when panic set in.

He flung himself from the bed, but the drop down to the floor was further than he was ready for. When finally he was standing on his own two feet, his chest barely met the top of the bed. He was… He was _tiny_. The shirt that he was wearing was huge on him, the collar pooling to the side to reveal a pale and scrawny shoulder and a very undefined arm. Jacob patted at his face, feeling the baby smoothness of his cheeks, missing the places where scars should have been.

How?

Jacob struggled through the memories, grasping at his head as pain flared suddenly through his temples. They were at a… at a ball. There was a chamber underground. He had gone ahead and – _a hand at his throat, squeezing. Energy being pulled from him, funneled into the glowing Shroud around Starrick’s shoulders as Jacob shrank beneath Starrick’s hand. Evie throwing Starrick off again and again only to end up with a knife in her shoulder and thrown across the chamber. A barrier. No escape, no help, and Starrick’s hand – sucking the years away from him._

_Then blackness._

Jacob came to on his knees, wetness at his nose. He rubbed at it with his sleeve only to come back with a red smudge across the clean white linen. The Shroud had done this to him, and he could only assume that based off the rich décor of the place he now found himself in that he was in one of Starrick’s estates. He had a sudden and childish urge to trash the place in retribution, but a swift shake of his head was all he needed to subdue the thought and focus on what mattered – getting away, getting back to Evie, and fixing this mess.

Evie would know what to do. She’d been studying these artifacts for the better part of their stay in London and beyond. He felt a pang of annoyance in realizing that in her studies she had missed the _very important detail_ that the Shroud could change the age of a person, not just keep the wearer alive and young forever – but it was too late for such regrets.

Instead, Jacob lifted himself to his feet and waited for a sudden flash of vertigo to pass before heading to the window. The locks were drawn, but that was no issue – just a matter of climbing upon the sill to reach them, although the necessity of climbing just to unlock a window irked Jacob to no end. It was the _nails_ that proved to be a problem, bolting the windows shut to their stills.

“Damn it, Starrick, you crazy bastard,” Jacob growled beneath his breath and tried to ignore the childish tone that accompanied it.

He moved next to the door, keeping his steps as light as possible as he tested its knob. Locked from the outside.

“Think, Jacob,” he whispered, turning back to reassess the room. Between one blink and the next, he activated his eagle vision – but in his youth, it was nearly overwhelming. Instantly he was barraged with huge plumes of ghostly smoke, and the change in perspective nearly made him want to vomit. But after a moment of adjustment, things began to fall into place in his vision.

The estate, wherever it may be, was crawling with Blighters. Everywhere Jacob looked, there they were – walking in packs of two or more. He’d never make it through the halls even if the door had been unlocked. The roof, however, was a different question altogether. For the moment it was barren, and if he could make it to the roof, maybe he could find a way out from there.

But therein still lay one problem – the windows and their nails.

He’d have to break the windows.

He could use the chair to the desk, smash out the window, cover the sill in the sheets from the bed and climb to the roof. But the guards would likely hear it…

“Guess I’ll have to be quick about it, then,” Jacob murmured pleasantly, more than ready to bring damage upon some part of Starrick’s home. He quickly went to the desk and dragged the chair to the window. It was heavy, Jacob realized uneasily; heavier than he thought, in fact. But with a burst of adrenaline and a miracle on his side, he managed to lift the chair and smash out the fragile glass of the window panes.

“Hey, what was that?” A man asked, his voice carrying from some part of the property. Jacob quickly darted to the bed and pulled free the sheets. After placing the sheets over the sill, he carefully climbed atop it and made sure not to move suddenly lest a stray bit of glass cut through the sheet and into his foot.

“I think it came from in here,” another voice said, the doorknob to his room jiggling just as he pulled himself out the window and stuck himself fast to the wall outside. Despite his small frame and the struggle he had with the chair, it was surprisingly easy for Jacob to haul himself to the roof. Not a moment later, he saw a face peer out the shattered remains of the window below – looking out onto the property with a scowl.

“The pipsqueak’s gone,” the man said, and Jacob felt a furl of annoyance curl in his chest.

“I’m not _that_ small,” Jacob murmured in a whisper beneath his breath, arms crossed.

“Well we better find him before Starrick finds out,” Another voice said, sounding far more concerned than the first. “A bullet would be a kindness if he finds out we lost the boy.”

Did they not know who he was? They were speaking as though they had lost sight of Starrick’s nephew rather than _an assassin_ turned _child._ But still an assassin none-the-less. Did they really think he’d just stay put just because he was… God, how old was he?

“Deal with that later, Jacob,” he whispered, turning to look for the highest point of Starrick’s estate, “Focus on getting out of this mess, first.”

The property must be outside of London proper, because there were distinctly trees surrounding Starrick’s property rather than the immense cluster of buildings that Jacob was used to. So escape wouldn’t be as simple as crossing a few rooftops as he had hoped. Instead, he’d have to find a way off the property, figure out _where_ he was, then make his way back to London and the train. Jacob sighed, weariness beginning to settle over his bones despite just waking. He had a long way to go.

“One step at a time,” Jacob whispered, turning his sights back to the highest point on the estate – the chimney stack. He walked up to it, one small hand bracing against the cold brick as he shivered. He had never been afraid of heights, but the tallest cathedral in London felt like nothing in comparison to this chimney stack before him.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

Jacob searched for his first handhold. Once his small fingers found purchase within the gritty stone, he pulled himself up and searched for the next – and the next and the next. He was probably three or four feet off the ground when his concentration was suddenly shattered by two huge hands grabbing him around his ribs; their fingers practically meeting at his sternum.

“Hey!” Jacob cried out, legs and arms lashing every which way as he was pulled from the chimney as if he weighed nothing.

“What’re you doing up here, boy?” the guard said, and for the life of him, Jacob couldn’t figure out where he had come from. How had he missed him? “Starrick’s worried sick. You’re supposed to be resting.”

Jacob stilled, ice pouring down his spine. God, that sounded so…so… _domestic._ Had a Blighter – someone who would have normally taken the opportunity to kill him without blinking an eye – just reprimand him for being _out of bed?_

“What the hell are you going on about?!” Jacob said, hating himself for sounding as young as the Blighter was making him feel. “Let me go!”

The Blighter actually had the gall to laugh, and Jacob felt himself flush all the way down his neck.

“No, no, no,” the Blighter said, tucking Jacob underneath one large arm like he were a sack of potatoes. So he was dealing with a thug then; one of those huge, hulking men that Roth had been particularly good at finding and recruiting. No matter how Jacob twisted or kicked, he couldn’t pry himself free. “Starrick will want to see you.”

“Great, dandy,” Jacob muttered, going slack. “Off we go, then.”

* * *

If Jacob had thought being carried through the estate hanging like a doll from the crook of a Blighter’s arm was embarrassing, it didn’t hold a candle’s flame to being deposited into Starrick’s private room like an unruly child caught up past bedtime – which he guessed, in their twisted eyes, he was just that. He stumbled as the Blighter practically tossed him forward.

Starrick’s private room was lavish, just as expected. Rich curtains, plush carpets, a large bed and a heavy oak desk that could crush a man beneath its intricately carved weight. It was there at that desk that Jacob found Starrick – nose down as he scrawled away at some letter or important ledger. He was wearing his normal clothing, but instead of his usual immaculate touch, he had his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his collar open at his neck. And the Shroud was nowhere to be found.

“We found him, Mr. Starrick. Right as rain, he is,” the Blighter said. Jacob turned to run, but the man was taking up the entire frame of the doorway with his bulk. When he caught Jacob’s glare, he just gave him a cheerful wink. Rage flooded Jacob’s bones and he clenched his tiny fists.

“Well done, Mr. Abrams. While I do not understand how a child alluded your watchful eye in the first place, the boy is found and the damage undone,” Starrick said, his gaze still down as he did not bother to discontinue his writing. “However, should this problem arise again…”

He paused just long enough to meet his Blighter’s gaze, his pen momentarily still and his tone even stiller – like the calm surface of dark water, it’s depths unfathomable.

“Understood, sir,” Mr. Abrams said quickly, “I’ll leave you to it, sir.”

And then the meaty wall blocking his way was gone, replaced by a door and finished with the quick snick of a lock. Jacob cursed, and it took all of his willpower to turn on his heel and face the man who should have died beneath his blade. But when he did, Starrick’s eyes were not awaiting him. Instead, the man had gone back to his writing – leaving Jacob standing there like a fool.

Jacob cleared his throat.

“Just a moment, Jacob,” Starrick said, his words closely followed by the soft scratching of his pen. “After what you’ve put me through tonight, I think you can offer a little patience.”

“What _I’ve_ put _you_ through?” Jacob exclaimed. He threw his hands out at his sides and looked around for the support of an audience that was not there. “I can barely reach a _doorknob_  because of you. You kidnapped me, and let me stress the ‘ _kid_ ’ in that word because I still can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that I’m barely four bloody feet tall now. So I’m sorry if I didn’t stay put in bed like a good little boy because extra, extra – read all about it – _I’m not a little boy!”_

With a large, put upon sigh – shit, Jacob would nearly call it theatrical – Starrick set down his pen and slowly raised his gaze to address him.

“Are you done?”

Jacob felt his neck run red again, rage blushing his cheeks.

“No, actually – while we’re at it how about you unlock these doors, give me one of those fancy carriages your dearly departed sister left you and I’ll just be on my way. No damage done, as you say.”

There was a long, chilling moment when Starrick simply stared at him. If not for the fact that he knew the man had no qualms with hurting children if his factories were anything to go by, he would have questioned it then; knee deep in Starrick’s bone-chilling glare.

But then, just like that, his expression changed. He laughed. The man laughed! As if Jacob had told a particularly amusing joke. And while Jacob loved being hilarious and charming in all that he did, he didn’t find Starrick’s amusement very settling.

“Want to enlighten me on the joke?” Jacob asked.

“You, dear boy,” Starrick answered, standing slowly as if his laughter had weakened him. “Speaking as though you were still a man.”

“I am a man!” Jacob snarled, and flushed at how young he sounded even to his own ears. And every flush, every embarrassment, every reminder _took_ something from him. More of his confidence, more of his steel. More of his ability to keep his chin up.

“Quite,” Starrick said, his laughter simmering to a soft chuckle, only to blend down into a serious stare once more. “I have half a mind to bend you over my knee and spank you, young man. But I don’t think you’re ready for that quite yet.”

“S-spank me?!" Jacob spluttered, outraged. "Am I going crazy?! Or did you forget – I am the _assassin_ that tried to _kill_ you mere hours ago. We’re _enemies_. Not that I’m ungrateful for you not killing me, but I’m not your _boy_!”

“Days.”

That brought Jacob’s rage to a pause, his brows drawn in confusion.

“What?”

“Not hours. Days. The change took a lot out of you. You’ve been bedridden for days.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I don’t think you understand your situation, Mr. Frye,” Starrick said, and Jacob felt a small flutter of relief at being addressed like a man again, however brief. “Days of recuperation. Days in which _no one_ came to save you. Your darling sister is dead, as is your exotic friend. No one is coming for you. Your Rooks are scrambling without a leader, and the person they are looking for so desperately is a _man_. Who would think to look for Jacob Frye, notorious gang leader of London and fearsome assassin, in the form of a boy not even as tall as my waist? Without your sister, no one will know to look for you as you are,” Starrick said, slowly coming closer, forcing Jacob to step back to keep from craning his head too ridiculously. “And small as you are, you have no hope of escaping this estate. So do what you need to do to come to terms with your new arrangements, Mr. Frye. I’ll give you a day. But come the day after that, you will be addressed as a boy, act as a boy, _be_ a boy.”

Jacob felt icy terror run through his veins, his ears and mind all but numb to Starrick’s words the moment he heard the news of Evie’s fate. ‘ _No,’_ he thought, aghast. ‘ _No, no, no. It can’t be true. Not Evie. Not_ his _Evie. She was better than him. In all ways, she was better. No way did she fall prey to Starrick’s whims as he had. He was the one who made mistakes. Not… Not Evie…’_

He felt his bottom lip quiver, as if his small body couldn’t contain the emotions he could have masked as a man. His breath hitched, and he clenched every muscle in his body to stop the burning in his throat and eyes before they could evolve into more ammunition in Starrick’s arsenal.

“Oh dear boy,” Starrick said, suddenly kneeling before him – his hands gentle where they cupped Jacob’s whiskerless face. “Don’t be down, it won’t be so bad. I have such a life to offer you. Better, no doubt, than the one you led before. You have such greatness ahead of you.”

Jacob bit his lip and jerked away from Starrick – but he did not miss the momentary flicker of white hot rage that flashed through the man’s eyes at his rejection before it slipped beneath a calm, fatherly mask once more. _That_ felt good to see. The man he knew was still there. Jacob hadn’t gone crazy.

“Evie isn’t dead,” he snarled, “And I won’t rest until I put you in the ground and piss on your unmarked grave.”

Starrick raised his hand as though to slap him, and Jacob flinched – idly wondering how much more that hand would hurt as small as he was now – but his eyes flickered open hesitantly when the blow never came. He side-eyed Starrick suspiciously as the man looked at him with an open look of sadness.

“You thought I would strike you.”

Jacob’s eyes burned.

“You say you killed my sister. _We_ tried to kill _you_. I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility.”

“Yes, well… those memories that plague you will fade soon enough,” Starrick said, and Jacob hated it when the man rested a gentle hand atop his bony shoulder. He tugged himself free and couldn’t figure out why Starrick looked regretful, stricken even, when he did. The man's mood swings were exhausting. “Come on, dear boy. I think that’s enough excitement for one night.”

And then with a soft pop of aging knees, Starrick stood and returned to his desk.

“You can rest here tonight,” he said as he sat down and picked up his pen, eyes never even straying to Jacob – dismissing him completely. “As you can imagine, I’d rather not take my eyes off you. Not until you’re more settled in.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jacob muttered, arms crossed – but still unsettled from their conversation, Starrick’s words still rolling through his head. Distracting him.

‘ _Those memories that plague you will fade soon enough_.’

Well, if Starrick was hoping that time would heal those scars and that Jacob would become his darling baby boy overnight, he had another fucking thing coming to him. Instead of going to the bed as Starrick wished, Jacob sat down where he was in the middle of the floor and glared at him. If he couldn’t escape, he’d find a way to kill the man in his own home. He’d find the Shroud, he’d fix himself, and he’d find Evie.

She wasn’t dead. He’d _know_ if she were. He was sure of it. But for now, he’d buy his time until he found a weapon with which to finish what he had started.

Starrick would pay.


	3. Gently

Eventually Jacob tired of sitting on Starrick's floor and simply glaring at him. When it became obvious that the man had no intention of paying him any heed, Jacob decided some exploring was in order – because he'd be damned if Starrick thought he could order him to bed like a child.

So Jacob poked around the huge, ornate room. Now that he had time to inspect a place of Templar holding without having to worry about getting caught and murdered by said Templars, he couldn't help but blink in wonder at how richly they lived. Jacob  _knew_  that they did, of course. A man like Starrick with a  _business_  like Starrick and a hold over the city like Starrick didn't live in squalor. But the room was beyond extravagant, even for such a man.

The floor was covered end to end in marvelous runners and carpets, all thick and plush beneath Jacob's shoeless feet. He curled his toes in it pleasantly as he took in the rich woods that comprised the room, dark and gleaming in the candlelight. His ceiling was ordained with intricate light fixtures and coffered designs, taller than most rooms he'd been in that were still considered residential and not a bank or government building. His desk was heavy as it was surely expensive, and all along his walls were ornate shelves of books spanning a diverse range of topics – from philosophy to economics to war to surgical analysis. It was simply amazing; Evie would kill for access to a library of this caliber.

His small fingers traced the spines of a dozen books, all of them bound in leather and soft beneath his touch. He curled one fingertip into the edge of a single book and slowly turned to look at Starrick, curious if he were watching. Satisfied that he wasn't, he gently pulled the book from its spot, his eyes on his enemy all the while. When the book finally fell from its shelf and slammed to the floor with a crisp slap, Starrick jumped – and  _damn_ , if that didn't feel satisfying as hell. Jacob grinned maliciously, ready to start a fight.

But to his surprise, Starrick didn't rise to the bait. Once he settled from his moment of surprise, he looked at Jacob from beneath hooded eyes with the patience of another man and said, "I understand you've been through a lot of change tonight, Jacob. Get it out of your system," and returned his gaze to his work before saying softly, "If only for this one night."

That baffled the young assassin. He stood there transfixed, his jaw agape as he waited for Starrick to pull the rug out from under him. He'd just let Jacob terrorize his room with no issue? Did he think that Jacob would get over this in one night? Jacob scoffed and turned away, but not without giving the book a good kick for measure – peeking out at Starrick from beneath his lashes just to test him. The man didn't even stir. Jacob grit his teeth.

As fun as destroying the room like a hurricane while Starrick watched would be, Jacob couldn't help but think –  _'Yes, but what would Evie do?'_  That destructive sort of thinking had gotten him stuck in Attaway's carriage and seated at Roth's table. Things that surely would have never happened to Evie. No, she was more calm, more calculating. She'd use this time to plan, to identify anything that could help her – to escape.

And if there was one thing he wished he had said to his sister before their last mission, it was that he thought she was a brilliant assassin when she wasn't busy being a preaching ass – and he could learn a thing or two from her patience. Even if he didn't agree with most of her methods. But there'd be a day for that, because despite what Starrick said, Jacob was sure his sister wasn't dead. He'd feel it, if she were. He knew deep down to his bones, he'd feel it. 

So with one long calming breath, Jacob turned his focus onto more productive ends: identifying assets that could aid in his escape.

The windows were beautiful and ornate, made of delicate painted glass – easy to break, but they led to nothing but air and a long drop. As a man, a potential exit. As a boy? Not so much. No go on the windows. Jacob frowned and turned to look at the other side of the room. The man's bed was huge, but Jacob wasn't sure if that was because he was small or because Roth actually had  _that much money_ to burn.

He glanced beneath it as quietly as he could manage, hoping the man had decided to conceal a gun beneath it. No such luck, but he did find a box with a lock affixed to its front. Curious. He made note of that for later. He poked his head over the side of the bed to check on Roth, only to find him still buried deep in his paperwork. Good. Jacob hoped he'd drown in it. Or at least get a paper cut, the prick.

He turned his attention next to the small night stand at the side of the bed. It held a bible and a rosary on its tabletop –  _no surprise there,_ Jacob thought. In its drawer he found a few notebooks, a pen, and a rather wicked knife. He was tempted to grab it then and there, and draw it on Starrick while they were free of other Blighters. But he knew that despite that man's busy façade, he was no doubt keeping a careful eye on Jacob nonetheless. Sure the man wasn't wearing the Piece of Eden, but Jacob would never get close enough to capitalize on the situation regardless.

That was when Jacob realized that his normal means of assassination – quick and lethal brute force – would do him no good as he was. He'd have to channel Evie's methods of working instead and stick to the shadows, utilizing the element of surprise rather than strength of his body. He didn't like that at all. He didn't have the patience for it, he never did.

He closed the drawer quietly and moved onto Starrick's dresser. It had a few framed photographs, no doubt of family or prestigious acquaintances. But otherwise it was pretty barren of knickknacks – or anything helpful, for that matter. Jacob crossed his arms and frowned, quickly running out of places to investigate.

The room had pretty much been covered, except for the piano at the far end, across from Starrick's desk – and then of course, Starrick's desk itself. And there was still one large, looming question at hand: where was the Shroud.

Jacob rubbed at his eyes, suddenly tired. He had only been awake for a few hours now, but the adventure that had filled them had been fierce for his little body. Out of nowhere, he felt as though he had been sucker punched by exhaustion. He rubbed his face and shook his head like a dog, hoping to rid himself of the haze that was slowly creeping over his mind. The dimness of the room wasn't helping matters, either. Did children tire quicker, he wondered. Or was it that he was still recovering...

When he looked up, Starrick's eyes were on him. Jacob squared his jaw and glared at him, daring him to say something. But the Templar simply returned to his work, letting Jacob do as he pleased.

Eager to stay on his feet lest he tire quicker, Jacob forced himself over to the piano. It was a huge thing, and obviously well loved. Despite the piano's glamorous condition, its seat was creased with use. There was no sheet music to be found though, oddly. Did the man play by memory? Or did he compose himself?

Jacob ran small fingers along the tops of the keys without pressing them, but found no dust. So the man must play often. He delicately tapped his fingers soundlessly across three keys, lost in thought. He could vaguely remember a tune from a long, long time ago. Happy, beautiful. He could see the silhouette of someone playing, someone familiar.

" _Your mother was marvelous at this, back when she used to play. Before she met your… Well, she was always much better than me anyway," an old voice said kindly, sadly, as she played for him. "You have the same long fingers. Would you like to learn?"_

But the memory quickly bled away as a louder tune – harsher, more painful – suddenly came to mind. The local barman's entertainer singing a ballad about Roth's death a mere fortnight ago.

_The Blighter and Assassin made a deadly double bill._

Jacob shuddered and pressed down a little too hard on one of the keys because of it, a soft note playing in response – breaking up the silence.

"I could teach you," Starrick said, making Jacob jump. He looked up to find the man looking at him, his gaze strange and uncomfortably piercing. Jacob scoffed.

"You should have taken Evie if you wanted a pianist," Jacob said.

Starrick considered this for a short moment, then shrugged and muttered a soft, "Pity," as he turned back to his work. Whether in regards to not having taken Evie instead or just Jacob's outright refusal, he didn't know. It unsettled him either way.

Out of places to investigate, Jacob picked a nook behind the piano, just out of Starrick's direct sight, and sat. He pressed his thin back against the wall and brought his knees up to his chest, suddenly overwhelmed.

Everything was just so  _large_  now. He had found a knife, which was great, but surely Starrick knew he found it. No doubt it'd eventually go missing before he could ever find a way to grab it unescorted. There was nothing in this room but dusty pages, a madman, and an assassin trapped in the body of a little boy. Jacob trembled, and hated himself for it. He bit his lip lest it start quivering and quickly shoved his face into his knees.

' _Hush now, Jacob,'_  he thought to himself. ' _All is not lost. Just stay calm. Find the Shroud. Turn back into a man. Kill that fucking prick, Starrick, and find Evie. Piece of cake.'_

He repeated the words to himself until he felt his mind falling into a lull amidst the soothing repetition, and the words followed him down into the dark.

* * *

 

Starrick watched as the boy wore himself out. It was a painful process to watch, but necessary nonetheless. Jacob was a bright boy, despite his rash behavior. He didn't take the opportunity to harm Starrick or himself with the knife when he found it – nor did he utilize Starrick's invitation to tear the room apart. He investigated everything quietly, like a dog settling into a new home; and Starrick couldn't be more pleased with the development.

He watched as Jacob trailed small, thin fingers along the alabaster keys of his beloved piano – lost in thought. Watched as the boy yawned despite himself in his explorations, his little hands rubbing at his eyes. It was hard to remember that this boy was a man mere days ago. That he would've lodged a knife in Starrick's throat if given the chance.

But now, his little assassin was curled up in the corner where he thought Starrick would not see him – obviously trying to calm himself down. Starrick gave him his privacy, waiting until his little ribs eased into a more soothing pattern and his breathing slowed. Finally, the hands around his knees began to slacken, and Starrick decided that was enough for one night.

He rose from his seat slowly, making sure to ease out the achy kinks that had grown into his muscles from hours of sitting at a desk. Then he made his way over to Jacob – slowly, lest he startle him. But the boy was exhausted, and even when he got so close that Starrick's shadow eclipsed him, Jacob did not stir.

"Dear boy," Starrick said, kneeling down to gather him into his arms. He was light, and just like in the chambers where Starrick had first held him, he couldn't help but think –  _too light_. He'd feed him in the morning. Something hardy and filling.

When Jacob didn't stir, Starrick took that moment to walk him over to the large bed and gently lay him in it. He looked even smaller now, if possible – dwarfed as he was in the bed. Starrick tucked away a stray lock from Jacob's brow and rose to return to his studies.

There'd be hell to pay in the morning, no doubt, when Jacob fully recovered from his excitement. He'd need to be ready by then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a/n]
> 
> Hello wonderful people who have been reading and supporting this fic! I just wanted to give you a heads up that I'm going to Dragon Con this weekend for an extended trip starting tomorrow, and I won't be back until next Wednesday – which means, no updates in the mean time. Stay tuned though, more to come!


	4. The First Morning

Jacob woke slowly, loathly, despite the bright shine of sunlight bathing his face. It was early morning, but a quick glance to the side confirmed that his sister had risen before him. Again. Jacob cursed and shot forward. Evie was likely up and impressing father already, and he couldn’t help but feel a little sting of jealousy. Why didn’t she wake him?

He pulled back the comforter and that’s when he realized how plush, how _rich_ , the bed he found himself in was. Soft fabric beneath his fingers, and a mattress stuffed with the softest feathers he’d ever laid upon. It felt like sleeping in a cloud – or as close to it as he could ever imagine – and all at once he was aware that he was waking up somewhere he had never been before.

The room was large and just as extravagant as the lovely bed he had woken in. Thick carpeting, a heavy wood desk larger than any other he had ever seen, and racks upon racks of books. Huge, thick tomes that would send Evie and his father all aflutter. Speaking of which, where were they and why would they leave him alone to wake in such a strange place? It was unlike the paranoia so common to his father. ‘ _Caution, patienc_ e,’ he would always say, _‘were the keys to surviving in this world.’_ Had he and his sister’s roles been reversed and it had be him who woke first, his father would have insisted they wait for her. Jacob scowled and leapt down from the bed.

There was a moment, briefly, where Jacob felt a pang of something not right. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Why had they left him alone though? It was so unlike them… And in a place he’d never been… He suddenly felt so small.

New places didn’t frighten him, though. And while Evie might pretend to be cautious and doe-eyed around their father, they didn’t scare her either. They were the same kind of brave, the same kind of daring, and passionate about the same kind of adventure. They both _wanted_ something more than the boring routine father insisted they live day in and day out. Jacob just didn’t lie about it. And with that thought, Jacob braced himself and stomped toward the door. It was unlocked and gave way easily.

He peeked left, then right. No one.

Jacob scoffed and quietly exited the room he had found himself in. His steps were soft, muted by the estate’s plush carpets. Not that he needed to sneak around, but he enjoyed it. It would surely brighten his morning if he could sneak up on Evie before she could notice he’d even woken.

But they weren’t anywhere on the top floor, he quickly found out. He did spy a few strange men in one room, all seated around a table with cards in their hands – rowdy and far too inept to notice him. Jacob felt proud that he had been able to slip in and out of their presence so easily, but he also knew they weren’t Assassins. He’d never been able to sneak up on an Assassin before.

He quickly found himself at the top of a grand staircase, and couldn’t help but pause as that little niggling of doubt suddenly bloomed in his mind once more. He frowned, annoyed with himself, and shook the thought away. Surely father and Evie were down there.

The bottom floors were even more elaborate than the top floor had been, with ceilings so high he nearly went cross-eyed looking up at the intricate light fixtures hanging from their depths. He spotted a maid just a moment before he himself had been noticed and quickly ducked into a side room before she saw him wandering about.

Part of him said it was _fun_ to hide, to practice his stealth. But the other part of him knew the real reason why his heart was suddenly pounding. He didn’t want to engage with anyone before he found father. It was that paranoia talking – the stern, yet comforting drone of his father’s daily lessons.

_‘Be cautious. Be patient. Assume that nothing is as it seems.’_

He flattened his back to the drawing room’s door as he listened to the maid pass by. He waited a good sixty seconds before dipping back into the hall and continuing his hunt. Pride once again sent his stomach into a dizzy twist, and he couldn’t help but smirk a bit as he went – excited to tell his father how well he had managed to sneak around the estate, especially since sneaking was not exactly his forte. It was Evie’s.

Everything was…

That brought his excitement crashing down. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the sudden negative thoughts, when he found himself suddenly at the doorway of an occupied room. It was a large dining room, with a glossy table that looked to be nearly a kilometer long! And on the far end of the table, parallel to the door Jacob found himself at, was a large wall of windows that cast the entire room alight – silhouetting two figures at the table’s end.

“This looks lovely, Mrs. Ballenger. Thank you,” said a voice, deep and rough and kind in a way that made the fine hairs on Jacob’s arms stand up. The man sounded familiar, and so Jacob was inclined to stay. But something about the way the man spoke – formal, easy, and confident; as though his kind words were a generosity rather than polite formality – made Jacob want to run away.

“Thank you, Sir,” Mrs. Ballenger, a large, portly older woman, said with a small bow that might have been a curtsy on a younger girl. “I’ll be attending to the kitchen if you need me.”

And then she left the room through a small side door – _‘a service exit’_ his mind supplied, although he had never seen one before. Jacob’s eyes slid from the door to the man who then took to gazing out onto the garden beyond the large glass windows, his back to him and his body all aglow. Jacob was just about to air on the side of caution and slip away when the man suddenly spoke, making the young boy nearly leap out of his skin. How had he even noticed him, his back turned as it was? Was he an Assassin?

“Jacob. Good of you to wake when you did. Breakfast is ready,” the man said.

“I—uh…,” Jacob stammered, then curled one hand into a little fist, furious at his own cowardice. He was an Assassin, even if he had been caught. He raised his chin and straightened his back before clearing his throat and saying, “I’m looking for my father and my sister. Have you seen them?”

That caught the man’s attention, evidently, because his posture straightened ever so slightly – like the ears of a dog perking at an unexpected but not unwelcome sound. The man turned his face slightly over his shoulder, paused, then turned completely to address him.

Back to the window as he was, Jacob still could not make out his face.

“Frightening to wake alone in a new place, isn’t it?” The man mused, his voice suddenly softer than it had been, the sort of tone adults often adopted when speaking to children. It drove Jacob mad, but all the same, it made him feel less threatened. Just another dumb adult dismissing Jacob as useless just because he was six and small for his age. “Not to fret though. You’re in good hands.”

“Father’s not here?” Jacob asked.

“You’re quick,” the man said, sounding pleased. “No. Your father isn’t here.”

Jacob looked around for any clue of their location or the allegiance of the estate’s owner. But the world beyond the window was too green, too richly maintained, to be anything near Crawley. And the estate itself was completely devoid of Creed paraphernalia. His mind drifted to the men he had seen upstairs – brutish men. Guards?

No, not guards… worse… Something tingled painfully in his mind, like pressure in his ears whenever he swam too deep – pressing and uncomfortable and just waiting to pop. He groaned and took a step back, unaware of how close the man was getting until he was practically right in front of him. He looked worried and that scared Jacob.

“Jacob?” He asked. “Are you alright, my boy?”

Jacob squinted at him through the pressure, and close as he was, suddenly his face was visible despite the backlighting from the window. A strong face, younger than he remembered. Smoother, somehow. A kind smile topped with cold, calculating eyes. Jacob gasped as the pressure in his mind expanded suddenly, his eyes aching with an unexpected rush of images.

_Hands at his neck, a desperate pulling, and shrinking – down, down, down._

_Evie calling his name._

Jacob fell to his knees, the carpet a harsh burn against his skin. He was distantly aware that the man was crouched in front of him now, hands cupping at his face and pulling at his eyelids and smearing something wet across his upper lip. Jacob licked at it and tasted copper. His nose was bleeding.

He felt sluggish as his mind wrapped around the sudden switch in processing, rebooting. All he knew was that he was in trouble. Horrible, horrible trouble.

“Jacob? Jacob, can you hear me?”

That voice… He knew that voice. Confident and fake and so capable of cruelty. He knew that voice, remembered how it boasted that his sister was dead. He knew…

Jacob blinked twice, then jerked away abruptly after the third. He landed awkwardly on his butt before he desperately scooted away, putting much needed distance between himself and the maniac that had made him this way.

“W-what happened?” Jacob spluttered, his heart racing. It was like flipping a switch, he realized in horror. One second he was six, and the next, distinctly twenty-one. Jacob felt his skin breakout into a cold sweat.

“You’re alright,” Starrick said, but did not move to come any closer. He stayed as Jacob had left him, crouched and reaching out to him. Concerned. Pleased. “There’s nothing wrong, Jacob. You’re alright.”

“Alright?” Jacob exclaimed, grimacing at how high his voice went. “I couldn’t – I didn’t –“

He stopped himself when he saw the ravenous look of curiosity on Starrick’s face. Feeding off his fear, off his _progress_.

Jacob scowled and used his sleeve to wipe the blood from his nose, adding another stain to the one he had created last night from his first nose bleed. He felt a twist of pride when he saw Starrick unable to stop his lip from curling at the sight. He was sure to wipe at it one more time, just to make sure he got it all.

Jacob's voice was low and measured when finally he finished with a soft, “I guess I was just confused. Must’ve woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Starrick smiled knowingly, but took the comment for what is was – a mask – and rolled with it.

“It happens to the best of us, my boy,” he said, then gestured to the food that Mrs. Ballenger had left out for them. Flakey scones, thick country ham, fruit. All sorts of foods that made Jacob’s mouth water and set his stomach to a hungry boil. Starrick did not miss the greedy glint in Jacob’s eyes, and Jacob felt his face heat before he could stop himself. He scowled and looked away, even though Starrick was already moving on.

He watched from underneath his lashes as the man slowly walked to the other end of the table and sat down, being sure to take his time before addressing Jacob.

“Sit. Eat,” He said without looking at him, his hands already reaching for food to place on his own plate. “After days of bed rest, you must be famished.”

 _Days._ His stomach gurgled. It certainly felt as though it had been days… Jacob crossed his arms regardless. He couldn’t show that he was dependent upon this man, even if he was. He couldn’t just eat from his table. God only knew what it was laced with. It was a test, it had to be. How desperate could Crawford Starrick make Jacob Frye?

Turn him into a child and drown him in kindness. Plush beds. Rich food. Concerned words. It was a cruel, backwards game that Jacob didn’t know how to play.

Starrick was loading his tea with fine little sugar cubes, his spoon clinking delicately against fine china, when the man spoke again – breaking Jacob from his thoughts.

“You can’t possibly expect to be strong enough to escape if you don’t eat,” he said. Jacob looked at him with wide eyes when Starrick suddenly caught his gaze from above his teacup – calm and knowing. “I hardly expect anything less from you, my boy. Eat. By all means, fight me. Put forth your best effort. It’ll help cement the lesson when you realize how fruitless the endeavor is.”

He said it simply, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather, before finally moving his gaze to the morning paper that Mrs. Ballenger no doubt left out for him. Dismissing him. Jacob felt rage, hot and furious, crawl up his spine. It was spite that led him to the table. He was sure to grab the plate that Mrs. Ballenger left for him seated at Starrick's right and make a show of dragging it down the table, away from Starrick. He sat as far from the man as he could without being completely out of reach of the spread before them. Starrick didn’t say a word.

They dined like that, together. Quietly. Calculatingly. Eager to prove the other wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the support! Between AO3 and FF.NET, I can't believe how much love these fics are getting. I wasn't expecting much, and every kind word, every kudo is absolutely amazing to me - you guys make my day, I'm so glad you're enjoying my crazy. THANK YOU SO MUCH.


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